Miles
by ultravi0lable
Summary: Kon loved to dress Tim up. PWP.


The first dress Kon ever bought for Tim was satin and strappy.

Its hem brushed over the hardwood in Tim's apartment with a hush, and its black folds were beautiful in their simplicity. It hung straight down to the floor, with a side slit that seemed to lick leagues up his mile-long legs. Tim had at first hesitated to put it on, embarassed at the feel of the fabric across his hips and thighs where it was snug, then flared, and where it seemed to be lacking fulfillment in the chest area. However, the longer Superboy kept him in it, the more comfortable Tim had become. Now it was commonplace, to Conner's delight, to slip in through the window and find Tim hunched over his computer, crunching numbers with one tantalizing spaghetti strap lost on a slim arm, its ties with pale shoulders completely forgotten. Tim would turn and smile at him, and he would come over and adjust the strap, caress his shoulder, and give him a sweet, sweet hello uneasily forgotten.

After the dress came the panties. Tim was surprisingly complacent when Kon had first procured them, foregoing the hushed fit that he was famous for and slipping them on with ease. They weren't his style, not at all, all baby blue and frilly, tier after tiresome tier of mesh that would have probably dissuaded any other shopper from buying them for Tim. Kon, of course, was not simply any other shopper, but Tim's best friend and lover who happened to be head over heels for Boy Wonder's powder blue eyes. This explained the sheer blue stockings that came after, and even the brassiere, which Tim accepted with absolute glee, ecstatic to be able to fill out the chest of his attire for once. This was not explained, however, by the random occasion on which Tim would leave the dresses out of the equation completely.

By this time Kon had also purchased Tim a sundress, equally horrid as far as style went, all yellow and abhorrent in the poppies littering its polyester body, but the blossoms certainly matched his stockings. Not that Kon ever dressed him in both, that was always Tim himself. Kon much preferred Tim's legs bare in the sundress. His robinsuit required that he shaved, and Kon enjoyed those smooth, smooth miles when they kicked up around him in the air, searching for purchase, sliding down his back.

Kon once had Tim in this state on the kitchen counter, and when his chest arched up into the air Kon greeted it by dumping ice water all down his front. Before Tim could think to react, Kon had dived down to the twin peaks pushing through the wet fabric of the sundress, and Tim now knew why he had been so insistent he left the brassiere behind this time around. He shivered for more reason than one and wrapped his arms, legs, around his attacker, searching for that hot mouth and chest on his body. He found them.

It was fun, Kon decided, to dress Tim up. He loved rolling the stockings up onto slim thighs. It was a sweet kind of retribution for all those times he had to watch Tim stretch in the morning and could do nothing about the wicked ways he contorted his body right in front of him. There was a certain satisfaction found in choosing whether or not Tim wore his tights, his kitten heels, or his panties those nights. Tim had always been the planning one and it was amazing to feel the way he quivered beneath his hands when Kon was the one calling the shots. After all, they did always hit their mark. Sometimes Tim would predict what Kon was going to dress him in, and Kon would then retaliate by doing something like dumping a glass of ice water over him and win the element of surprise back once more, even more successful than he had originally set out to be.

Kon also decided that it was fun when Tim would surprise him. Tim went so far as to buy himself a skirt, much too short to be worn out of the bedroom and a pleasing, maroon shade of plaid that made the obvious statement: One of us knows how to pick out clothes that will actually look good on me.

It was completely astonishing that this also happened to be the same one of the two that had the money to be particular about their fetish. Go figure.

Sometimes Kon would show up to find Tim already in his skirt and heels, waiting as lithe as a panther sprawled across his couch. Kon would step into the room and Tim would sit up expectantly, pose for a moment, assessing, and then crawl towards Conner, guaranteeing him a wonderful night. Kon would never admit that these times when Tim took initiative were maybe his favorite, when he could throw his head back and keep his hands of those firm hips as they rolled, rolled, rolled down onto his own, but he would admit that they were fun.

It didn't matter, anyway, because Tim already knew.


End file.
